


forbidden places

by foxxwrites



Series: writing challenge 2019/2020 [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Prison (Walking Dead), Suicidal Thoughts, beth finds her will to live, bethyl adopt a horse, daryl finds a career in therapy, hopefully someone can find a braincell, idk man this is kinda angsty, it's still the apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-06 11:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18850516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxxwrites/pseuds/foxxwrites
Summary: daryl's just doing his goddamn best and beth won't leave him alone with all of her ridiculous kindness.





	1. cerberus

**Author's Note:**

> okay lol, i'm obsessed with gutsforgarters' stories and actual angel beth greene of course, thus these words...

She was in a haze of denial in the farmhouse. That's what she realized. She had to adapt quickly when the big, bad world swallowed her whole.

She feels it in her soul now; how sweet that denial was. She longs for the days of innocence when her only problem was a rude boy who pushed her over in the playground or if Maggie brought home the wrong kind of ice cream for movie night. Now she runs for her life while the dead roam freely outside the prison. Only one field away from her sleeping frame. She doesn't dream anymore because she knows now that no dream would ever come true.

She murdered people. Growing up it would have been impossible to imagine herself capable of that— _never thought that she would have to be_. They might have tried to kill her first, but she still stabbed their delicate brains with her tiny knife and shaking hands. It wasn't their fault, was it? Are you really still to blame for your actions after you die?

Beth worries about her death. She worries her body will animate and instead of her just being _gone_  she will be a passenger watching— _helpless_ —as her mouth eats people and her flesh rots away. But even that doesn’t scare her half as much as the thought of watching everyone around her fall prey to death and leave her forever, entirely, undeniably  _alone_.

Beth spends a lot of the apocalypse asking questions.

On a particularly hot morning in the prison yard, she finds herself questioning all she knows about one peculiar person in their small, make-shift family.

Beth never spared much thought for Daryl Dixon. She knew he was tall and intimidating, sure. His presence in her regard was that of a silent, lurking shadow, or a cool, unnoticed breeze on a sunny day. He was someone who helped them survive and she was grateful— _so very grateful, really_  —but she never _saw_ him before. Certainly not in the way she sees him now.

She has smiled at his snarky comments and she has watched him kill hundreds of Walkers— _Ex-People—_ , and yet, she had never truly noticed him. She had never truly studied the sadness in his eyes, the twinge of his lips when he made a joke that amused himself or how he rubbed his palms against his pants, seemingly— _almost unbelievably_ —nervous. She had never noticed the way he approached her so cautiously, like he was unsure how to interact with her— _like she was of a different species_ —until he was telling her that her boyfriend was dead. Another one bites the dust, or, the dust bites them in this case. He felt for her. He apologized even though he didn't have any obligation to do so. Beth thinks she's feeling for him, too. She tells him ardently that it’s not his fault, that he tried his best, that he _always_ does.

Through her analyzing, it becomes obvious that no one else really notices him either. They never see him as anything more than a protector, a bodyguard— _Cerberus guarding the gates of hell_ —but he is so much more. She sees that now. He misses his brother, like an ache in his chest, a hole in his heart, a missing piece in his world, much like she missed hers. He cared about everyone and wanted their group of misfits to survive all this madness, even though he never made much of an attempt to socialize, he wouldn't hesitate to risk his life for all of them. She appreciated him and she decided she needed to show him that.  
  
Beth makes Daryl lunch for his trek out to find supplies. She finds a plastic container and tapes together a home-made lid in the prison kitchen, scrounges up a sandwich and some walnuts. She leaves a small, handwritten note in the tiny lunch box that reads ' _good luck!_ ' with a smiley face at the bottom. She steals his winged angel jacket while he sleeps and scrubs it clean with her bare hands. She  _attempts_ to carve him arrows out of wood for his crossbow (then wonders if that kind of bow can even shoot wooden arrows but shrugs it off, thinking, _it’s the thought that counts_ , and if not he could probably just stab someone with them— _hopefully not anyone alive_ —). She keeps his room-slash-cell clean when he's away, embarrassing herself by blushing while making his bed or picking up his, uhm, _delicates_. To top it all off, she beams brightly every time she sees him because she's hoping to send some positive vibes his way.  
  
He says nothing about her sudden change in behaviour.

Until, he does.

* * *

"What are you at?" he demands, slapping his hands down on the small table.  
  
"Hello, Daryl!" Beth exclaims pleasantly as she folds some freshly wind-dried sheets and places them neatly on the table beside Daryl's strong, thick hands. “Just some laundry.”  
  
"No. Not now,” he sighs and pauses to rub a hand over his face. “Listen, whatever you want— just say and get it over with."  
  
"What do you mean?" she rests her hands on her pile of laundry, tilting her head at Daryl.  
  
"Come on, what is it? Juice? Soap? Beer?"  
  
"I don't understand,” Beth looks to her left, her lips pushed together.   
  
"Neither do I!" He growls, pointing a finger at her. "Why are you being so nice to me?"  
  
Beth blinks, "Cause you're nice to me."  
  
He opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. Beth watches him stomp away. She wonders what happened to him to make him so suspicious of kindness.

* * *

Her next interaction with Daryl is at night.

"What ya doing?"  
  
Daryl startles, lifting his gun toward the noise. Upon recognizing her, he lowers it.

"Jesus, Kid! I almost shot you!"  
  
"I ain’t a kid,” Beth says, arms crossing over her chest.  
  
"Tell that to your face," he snorts.  
  
"What? Like there's a make-up store I could go to?" she wobbles her head mischievously while stepping closer to him.  
  
Daryl shakes his head, eyeing her frame in the darkness. He brings his burning cigarette to his lips and returns his gaze to the black void of the forest.  
  
Beth leans against the high fence, examining him with a tender smile. "What ya doing up so late?"  
  
"What are _you_ doing? Ain’t it past your bedtime?" He shuffles his feet, inching his body away from hers.  
  
"It's the apocalypse, Daryl. There's no more bedtime," she turns away from him to cringe at her words.

Daryl takes a puff of his cigarette. She thinks he might have rolled his eyes but she can’t see clearly. Smoke floats out of his lips and Beth swallows. She needs to stop staring but it's hard.

Beth reaches out her hand toward his lit cigarette.

"Can I have some?"   
  
He slaps her hand away, but definitely a lot gentler than he could have done.

"Asking like that means you're way too young.”  
  
"Am not! Just cause I didn't smoke or drink doesn't mean I'm a kid," her arms flat against her sides, she wishes she had said something more mature. Beth was just way too afraid of her father to get caught, his I’m- _so_ -disappointed-in- _you_ -stare always turned her into an embarrassed little girl again.  
  
Daryl mutters something Beth can't hear. She eyes his mouth, then sticks her hand out again.

"Gimme."  
  
"No."  
  
"C'mon!” she pleads. “I won't tell.”  
  
He watches her teasing, persuasive smile for a moment until he seems to realize what he’s doing and shakes his head roughly.

"This is my damn cig."  
  
"What? I can kill but not ingest nicotine?"  
  
"Killing dead people ain't killing,” he snorts, inhaling from his cigarette. The end burns and crumbles.  
  
"You're wrong,” she whispers, shaking her head. She doesn’t want to feel so cold— _no_ _remorse_ —about murder.  
  
"How ya figure?"  
  
"Cause they might still be them,” she looks up at him through her eyelashes, head lowered, thoughts racing. She's thinking, _our lives can’t really mean that little, can they?_  
  
"Wearing their faces don't make 'em the person you knew,” he says, so simply, as if concrete fact. Beth feels cold, sharp icicles invade her lungs. Her breath catching in her throat.  
  
"No? Then what are they?" Beth's voice cracks.  
  
"They’re moving targets."  
  
She stares at him, her mouth wide open and disbelief shining in her eyes.

“You don't really believe that."  
  
Daryl shrugs and nonchalantly blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

"What the fuck else you want me to believe?"  
  
"I want you to believe that this will end!” Her voice raises, her throat feels dry. “That there will be a cure or—or something!“  
  
"How stupid are you, Girl? Ain’t no cure. Ain't no end to this. This _is_ the end."  
  
"I don't believe that,” she stutters, unsure of her own thoughts. The night seems darker. The fence seems higher. The world seems smaller.  
  
"Na. You just _can't_ believe it."  
  
This time Beth's the one that stomps off, with tears in her eyes and a pounding in her head.

* * *

 Daryl doesn't have a neatly packed lunch waiting in his truck the next morning.

* * *

Beth finds a single cigarette tucked under her pillow that night. She twists it in her hands and runs her dainty fingers along it, before carefully placing it in her jeans pocket.

She’s deep in thought while staring at the dull, grey concrete securing the empty bunk bed above hers. She thinks about how meaningless this all could really be. Maybe she was right at the farm. Maybe it isn’t even worth surviving all of this madness. Maybe they should take the hint and let the zombies in.  
  
Beth has an intense nightmare that sends chills through her entire body. She watches Maggie die, then reawaken, eyes cold and callous. She watches her sister eat their father and attack Glenn. Then she dreams of taking her tiny knife and lodging it into her sister’s skull.

Beth wishes she never spoke to Daryl Dixon— _because he might just be right_.


	2. poseidon

  
She could feel her body tingling from the warmth of the sun. Her skin ached for a cool breeze. Her milky flesh an easy target for the splitting heat.

Beth looks out over the prison grounds from her position on the guard tower. She sighs, disappointed at the sight of all the walking corpses along the fence.

She longs for the days the Greene family would squabble while packing the car for their trip to the beach. It feels like centuries ago. She smiles fondly as she begins to remember. The pointless bickering over if they’ll need their body boards. Her mother yelling at everyone to wear sunscreen...

Beth inhales sharply at the memories, vividly recallling her tiny legs kicking the back of Maggie’s seat. Both to annoy her sister and because of her incredible excitement to make sandcastles and engulf herself in the cool, relaxing water. If she gave an offering to Poseidon could she go back there? Just for a moment. It would be worth it.

Beth wishes she was in the kind of apocalypse where people get sick and when they die, they stay dead. She knows that thought is selfish and cold, and not at all who she thought she was. But her little heart throbs at the idea of no threats at every turn, no _teeth_ chomping at you at every corner, and if everyone was gone, just _gone_ , she could go to that salty, refreshing, _healing_ water, allow her body to float and her lungs to breathe.

Now, even if she was to find a nice, large body of water, there would no doubt be hands underneath the waves grabbing at her feet, her body, her soul— _her_ _life_.

Daryl is packing the truck for his journey to find supplies. Beth watches him from her high perch and wonders if he would take her with him. Maybe she could find a handheld fan in some convenience store, that would indeed be convenient.

Biting her lip, Beth rushes down the stairs and sprints at Daryl. His back is turned, his bow in one hand and the other hand on the truck door handle.

“Hey!” She exclaims, her body hitting the side of the truck at full speed, winding her a little.

Daryl furrows his eyebrows at her, turns to scan the area, as if looking for someone to ask what the hell this girl is doing, and then shakes his head at her, “Are you crazy?”

“Maybe,” she smiles, shoulders shrugging playfully, “Where ya going?”

“Out,” he turns his back to her again, placing his crossbow in the truck beside the other weapons.

“Can—"

“No.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Beth complains loudly.

“You best get out of my face,” he tells her, eyes widening to add dramatic effect.

Beth tilts her head, eyebrow raising, “You’re not the boss of me.”

“You ain’t coming,” Daryl shuts the truck door and begins to walk back to the storage room to pick up some boxes in case he finds supplies to fill them with.

Beth places her hands on her hips and watches him walk away. Her eyes scan his broad, muscular shoulders and tight, well-fitting jeans. Beth immediately shakes herself out of those thoughts, blushing furiously. Focusing her eyes on the ground, she scolds herself for appreciating much more of Daryl than she initially intended.

“Hey Beth,” Rick glides towards her, his kind eyes aimed on her bouncing blonde hair.

“Hey Rick!” Beth responds cheerily, “You going with Daryl?”

“Nah, I’m using the excess wood from the garden to build a rocking horse for Judith.”

Beth sends him a brilliant smile, “That’s amazing! We should find some paint for it, and maybe fabric for a saddle.”

Rick nods, “Yeah, that’d be great. Tough lot to find though, but I’m sure Daryl’ll do a good sweep for em,” Rick leans in close to her and whispers, “He’s a softie when it comes to Judith.”

Beth smiles so wide her cheeks hurt, feeling majorly pepped up by Rick’s heart-warming parenting. Rick sends her a wink and walks off to start his new project.

Daryl nods to Rick as he passes him, his facial expression almost pleasant. His face instantly hardens when he spots Beth still standing by the truck.

“Get going,” he warns her.

Beth narrows her eyes at him, ready to verbally harangue him, when an idea strikes her. Shooting him a smug smile, Beth runs at the truck, whips open the passenger door, sits herself down and struggles with the seat belt for a moment before slamming it shut with a glorious, satisfying  _click_. She tries to pull the door to close it but Daryl stops it abruptly with his wide, open hand.

“Get out,” he says lowly, eyes fueled with fire, a warning she should heed.

“Make me,” Beth crosses her arms over her chest, both in defiance and in an attempt to protect her seat belt so he can’t press it open.

“I’m gonna give you five seconds,” he points his finger at her threateningly, “5...4...” Beth meets his eye with a challenging stare and Daryl’s jaw tightens, “Kid, get out of this truck or so help me god.”

“You gonna put your hands on me, Daryl?”

“Don’t say that so loud!” He whispers, glancing around in a panic, making Beth raise her eyebrows questioning if she’d won this argument. Daryl sighs, “Fine. But you’re staying in the truck.”

Beth has never felt such gleaming pride in herself, her eyes shining brighter than a shooting star as she shuts the truck door. She lets Daryl see her cheeky smile as he gets into the driver’s seat. He scowls at her but victory runs through her veins.

* * *

 

Beth admires the sky and how it accentuates the long, bright green grass. She thinks about how in the 'old world' she would take a picture, filter it— _because real life wasnt pretty enough, miracles of nature not aesthetically pleasing enough_. She would post it on Instagram and all her friends would comment about how _darling_ it was.

Even if she could do that now it really wouldn’t matter, would it? Maybe it never mattered at all.

She ponders on the weight of her worries in her old life, how heavy she'd feel if she didn't get above a C on a test. Guess none of that mattered now either.

The wind whips through her hair from the open truck window Daryl keeps snapping at her to close and she thinks about how insecure she used to be. How everyone was, really. How she worked out every day cause _god forbid_ someone could ever think she had any body weight at _all_. How in 6th grade Jade Manson made everyone laugh at her for wearing purple when it ‘wasn’t in'.

Beth shakes her head and swallows through her dry throat. She wonders what the point of it all is. Then she catches Daryl looking at her in the corner of her eye.

“What?” She asks, head turning toward him.

His eyes snap back to the road, he gives her a tiny shrug and clears his throat.

“I saw you staring.”

“Wasn’t staring.”

“No? Then what were you doing?” She watches his jaw tighten.

“Nothing. Shut up.”

“Lord, you’re all kinds of messed up,” Beth shakes her head, frustrated, but trying to remind herself that taking out her inner turmoil on Daryl isn’t right. Just because her heart feels like it's rotting away inside her chest, turning soot black and shrinking painfully, doesn’t mean she should snap at him.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You can’t ever just have a conversation with anyone.”

“So?”

“So stop pushing everyone away and talk to me!”

He falls silent, knuckles turning yellow as they clutch the steering wheel. Guilt hits Beth immediately. She hadn’t meant it, not really, but her mind is racing, thoughts spinning in a vicious circle of doubt and worry and _does life mean anything?_

“I was just looking."

This startles Beth, her eyes blinking in slow comprehension.

“Looking at what?”

Daryl’s mouth twists slightly— _nervously, she realises,_ —before he reveals, “You.”

Beth's eyes widen, her pulse hammers in her ears, “ _Oh_.”

They sit in silence. Beth feels overwhelmed by her own thoughts. She's already majorly confused. Her own musings weighing her down like chains on her neck and she just can’t deal with this right now.

“I wanna find some foam.”

Daryl shoots her a puzzled look, his eyes glistening, almost as if they were laughing at her, “What you say?”

“Foam. I wanna find some.”

“Did the sun get to your head?”

“It's for Judith's saddle,” Beth tilts her head, sighs. She admires the way the sun shines through the sky, curses the heat from it as she wipes her sweaty brow.

“What the hell's she gon be riding?”

Beth erupts into giggles and an easy smile settles on her face, “Rick's building her a rocking horse and I wanna make her a comfortable seat.”

“Do any of y'all even realise this is the apocalypse?” he shakes his head, blows air out of his mouth, “Goddamn morons.”

“It’ll be nice for her.”

“What’s the point?”

The smile falls from Beth’s face. Her heartbeat quickens and her mouth goes dry. It all comes down to that one question. She just refuses to answer it.

“I didn’t mean nothing,” she can hear the worry dripping from his tongue in thick vibrations.

“No, it’s not you,” Beth stares into the light of the sun, vision blurring, “I just don’t know why we bother sometimes.”

“Yeah, it’s a dumb idea.”

“No, not that. I wonder— _why_ we bother with living.”

Daryl swallows loudly, clenches his jaw, “You shut up now.”

Beth blinks, mutters, “Rude.”

“No, you shut up. 'Cause-'Cause _of course_ we're living. That’s what we goddamn do.”

“But _why_?” Beth’s voice cracks, tears holding her tongue hostage.

“Ain’t no why. Ain’t never been no why,” Daryl shakes his head. His rough, calloused fingers flexing on the steering wheel, “You just gotta keep going, just gotta keep moving.”

As she closes her eyes, Beth takes a deep breath. Her lungs contracting and her skin tingling from the heat. She almost feels like she's in a dream. When she opens her eyes again, they're dry and her fist is clenched.

Maybe nothing matters. But maybe that’s why they’re here— _to make them matter_.


End file.
